


No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

by stardust_made



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Sherlock and John in Hawaii, a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_made/pseuds/stardust_made
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"On the day in question John was still at the stage where most of his mental faculties were occupied with processing just how much the two of them going on a holiday, in <i>Hawaii</i>, was a surreal experience. (What was left was dedicated to the anxiety that inevitably accompanies one’s discovery that one’s baggage contains around 80% of inappropriate clothing.)"</p><p>No prior knowledge of Hawaii Five-0 necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://tolkienfancaiti.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tolkienfancaiti.livejournal.com/)**tolkienfancaiti** who asked for a Sherlock/Hawaii Five-0 crossover, gen. Thank you for taking part in Help Nepal and especially for your patience. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> My gratitude to my brilliant beta [Canon_Is_Relative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative).

This is what happened. (John’s account)

Sherlock and John were in Hawaii on vacation. 

On the day in question John was still at the stage where most of his mental faculties were occupied with processing just how much the two of them going on a holiday, in Hawaii, was a surreal experience. (What was left was dedicated to the anxiety that inevitably accompanies one’s discovery that one’s baggage contains around 80% of inappropriate clothing. John’s substantial Britishness was cause for modest pride for him; in some instances, however, it was a curse. He _had_ checked the weather forecast but they got it wrong half the time so it made sense to be cautious and pack two cardigans, three long-sleeved shirts and two jumpers.)

After having a splendid breakfast at their hotel…

It would have been nice if that sentence continued with, “John and Sherlock went sightseeing,” or, “John and Sherlock went to the beach,” or why not even, “John and Sherlock spent an hour associating with pleasant Hoola girls.” It didn’t. A holiday with Sherlock Bloody Holmes, even in Hawaii, meant that after having a splendid breakfast at their hotel, John and Sherlock actually went back up to their room and stayed in for two hours and thirty minutes looking into the case of someone’s missing aunt, two hours of which were spent in waiting for the nephew’s ‘fast broadband service’ to deign to live up to its reputation. The only thing that made the experience bearable was the tray of exotic fruits. The only thing that prevented Sherlock from acquiring a coconut-related head trauma was the fact that John loved coconuts and there was only the one on the tray.

They left the hotel around lunch-time and went straight for the bonus ride they had got as part of their deal at the hotel. The ride was quite lovely, even if the Wikiki Trolley did look a little odd. It reminded John of the smaller carriages of the Jubilee Line, which was emphasized by how Sherlock had to sort of…fold himself down in order to sit in the ‘trolley’ comfortably; that in turn pressed the point that John was the size of a garden gnome so John chose to busy himself with sightseeing and taking stock of his surroundings. He had to make one phone call, but thankfully there were no other distractions almost until the end of their trip. John really enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the place: tourists and locals, vivid, bright colours that were to be found on buildings, clothes, swimsuits (the weather was so warm, at some places people were just skating around in beachwear), surfboards and even foods. 

Towards the end of their ride two cars announced their arrival with some serious screeching. They looked a little like something Batman would drive so it came to no surprise to John when a bunch of the best dressed police officers he had ever seen poured out of them. They were led by a tall bloke who could have successfully been cast as the male lead in a Hollywood superhero blockbuster. Or as the next James Bond, John corrected himself mentally, as he observed the stranger’s extremely smart suit and his undone bow tie. Because clearly being very good looking didn’t quite cut it in these parts of the world, you had to be cool, too.

The man whipped out a gun in no time, shouted something at the driver, then shot him. (John couldn’t really be too sad about that—the guy’s red and white floral patterned shirt had been like a blot in John’s view throughout the ride, so silver linings and all that.) Amidst the screaming that was natural following this type of event, John had his confirmation that the newcomers were representatives of the local law enforcement as they waved their badges and started evacuating the tram cart with the kind of authority that came with the territory. 

Sherlock, having risen up from his seat and moved forward with the speed of a snail and the grace of a swan, addressed ‘James Bond’ in a slightly bored tone.

“You should call your bomb squad. Whatever you are looking for—well, obviously my money is on an exploding device—is right over there.” Sherlock indicated a large wooden container in the middle of the compartment.

‘James Bond’ reacted by pointing his gun at Sherlock, the motion practiced and—sue him, John was a military man—beautifully fluid. He did a head tilt to someone behind him, saying, “Danny, check it out.” A short blond John-sized man, also suited up, strutted in the direction of the wooden container. It was a distance of barely three meters, but he still managed to strut, which left John quite frankly a little envious.

When ‘Danny’ discovered that there really was a bomb in that container, things happened all at once. Panic, mostly, as to how to proceed, and a lot of shouted questions. Mostly aimed at Sherlock which wasn’t a novel experience for John so he tuned out to appreciate the two ladies who rounded off the group of newcomers. There was one gorgeous girl, local, if her exotic features were anything to go by. (Well, exotic in relative terms; over here John and Danny were the exotic ones.) The other lady was a very attractive brunette in a snug blue dress, the kind that a girl with a fantastic figure would wear at a wedding. 

(“Lestrade’s division has a lot of catching up to do in the wardrobe department,” John commented later on the way back to their hotel, at which Sherlock scoffed. “They were obviously going to a wedding, John,” he said, embarrassing himself once again as the person who did not understand casual sarcasm even when it was served to him on a plate. Nevertheless, John was secretly impressed that Sherlock had deduced the wedding thing. He didn’t even ask how.)

To cut a long story short, amidst the commotion that consisted of people demanding to know Sherlock’s identity and wanting to "get that thing out of here"—the bomb was actually ticking, at which John was proud to say he didn’t even bat an eyelid—what else was new?—Sherlock got punched by the local girl. It was very possible that he deserved it. John couldn’t say in which of the myriad of ways Sherlock had pissed her off, because he was otherwise engaged, namely trying to interrupt the following inspired conversation between Danny and ‘James Bond’. (He turned out to be called Steve. It was like being little and finding out Mr. Thompson’s first name was Nigel. Mr. Thompson was the very formidable headmaster in John’s primary school.)

The dialogue of the conversation in question was filled with a great deal of panting and dramatic eyebrows, and went like this:

“Okay, how do we stop it? How do we stop it?”

“I don’t know. Just…hold on for a second.”

“The wire, if you could—Just cut a wire.”

“There’s no wires, Danny, just hang on a second!”

“There’s always a wire, you just cut the wire!”

“Oh no…”

“What? Huh? Huh? Steve? What?”

“He’s disabled the nuke’s permissive action link.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means there’s no stopping it, Danny!”

Which was when John finally managed to get their attention and point out to ‘James Bond’—sod it, he wasn’t calling him Steve—the fortunate circumstance of them being surrounded by large quantity of water under which the bomb could detonate from a safe distance. 

This was how only ten minutes later a helicopter appeared, piloted by one of the largest men John had ever seen. (Again later, in the evening, they had the best shrimp ever courtesy to the same man whose name was Kamekona. He had a shrimp shop and served spicy dishes that made Sherlock cry, no matter how much Sherlock wanted to pretend it was because he had sand in his eyes.)

In the ten minutes while they were all waiting for the helicopter, some conversations were held that established both James Bond and his crew’s credentials—something called Hawaii Five-0, а special taskforce on the island that seemed to do as they please—as well as Sherlock’s identity and his skills. 

“The driver was obviously carrying a gun on his person, judging by his posture,” Sherlock deigned to explain to his new audience of four. He took a breath to continue but was interrupted by Danny.

“I’m not even going to ask why you are wearing a coat.”

“You wore a tie for two years after you moved here, Danno,” James Bond threw in his direction. 

“It’s a tie, Steve,” ‘Danno’ said emphatically, his whole body moving with these simple words. “A tie. I understand that your knowledge of clothing covers only cargo pants and t-shirts, but even you should be able to see the difference between one tie,” Danny indicated on himself where ties went as if no one had ever before witnessed the phenomenon, “and a big, heavy coat. And if you cannot do that then I pity you, my friend.”

John felt it was rather sad that instead of checking whether Sherlock was concealing a weapon under his coat, ‘Danno’ would rather banter with James Bond. Five seconds in Sherlock’s company and everyone had figured out the individual in front of them was mad enough to be wearing a coat in this sweltering weather.

“I wanted to see what would happen,” Sherlock went on oblivious others were talking. “It was the only promise of entertainment in this boring place.”

“Excuse me?” said the local girl with a certain degree of hostility. It probably made John a bad friend but he didn’t intervene, in favour of trying to come up with a pickup line she hadn’t heard a thousand times. Luckily for him, he had nothing. His luck being in that she was the one getting married, as it turned out later. Not to James Bond, either, so if he hadn’t managed to sway her from her marital plans by his sheer presence, no pick up line uttered by John Watson, pasty and currently lacking somewhat in the shapely muscles department, was going to do it. Blue Dress was the Bond girl, it turned out, so no surprises there. Well, apart from the fact that she was a Lieutenant so John highly doubted she’d need anyone saving her. 

Sherlock ignored Local Girl completely, preferring to talk about the dead driver. Naturally.

“I observed he kept looking at the place where you found the bomb. The frequency must have been…Oh, I’d say every two and a half minutes. It suggested he was either nervous the item would be discovered, which was highly unlikely, I mean, have you seen the imbeciles that go on these tours? The other option was something dangerous, something that could threaten his own life. The most natural conclusion was a device that was sensitive to motion. There was not excessive perspiration on his face, so—a device with a timer it was. I’m actually surprised there were as many as thirty minutes left. Frankly, my estimate was twenty, but reaction to stress is subjective.”

Sherlock stopped to take a breath. The two ladies, much to their credit, looked only mildly frayed around the edges. Blue Dress was almost unfazed. ‘Danno’ did some incredulous gaping for both of them. His appalled face suddenly split into an outrageously transforming grin that made him very likeable. He pointed at Sherlock but spoke to James Bond.

“Hey, Steve! I think we finally found someone crazier than you. Can you believe this guy?”

James Bond pursed his lips quickly in disapproving dismissal of Danny’s words.

“So let me get this straight,” he addressed Sherlock. “You were ready to risk the life of about twenty passengers just so you can what? See how this one turns out?”

Sherlock waved him off. “Please. I had it under control.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. John.”

It took John a moment to realize Sherlock expected him to say or do something. “Yeah…What?” he said, frowning a little.

“Give them your phone.”

A quick perusal of John’s mobile had Kono—John had noted this was Local Girl’s name—raise her eyebrows in something he was sure Sherlock would interpret as being hugely impressed. 

“Boss.” She handed James Bond the phone. “The call they received at HPD that told us where to come? It came from this number.”

‘Danno’ all but snatched the phone from her hand. “You called us?” he asked John a little incredulously. John cleared his throat, then as an afterthought shrugged for the benefit of the ladies. Really cool people on TV were always shrugging when talking about some incredible, admirable deeds they had done. “I noticed the driver fidgeting. Told Sherlock, he took a look and said I should call the police.”

“And you just did it.” ‘Danno’ was making a statement rather than asking.

John shrugged again, this time genuinely. “He’s never wrong about this sort of thing.” He deliberated for a second. “I didn’t know about the bomb,” he added, throwing Sherlock a quick glance promising a reckoning later. Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered in a subtle reply to the effect that no such thing was going to happen. Or if it did, no such thing was going to be taken seriously.

At that moment the distant sound of an approaching helicopter reached them. James Bond pointed at Sherlock. “We’re not done with you.”

“I can’t wait,” Sherlock retorted sarcastically. 

Later that day, once the whole saving-everyone-from-certain-death thing was out of the way, they did some proper introductions. John opted to go with his military rank. This immediately evoked a reaction of newfound respect in everyone and now John was sort-of friends with James Bond. Steve turned out to be a fellow military man who’d served in Afghanistan to boot, so at some point very soon drinks were going to be had and stories to be exchanged, level of confidentiality permitting. John was quite looking forward to that. 

***

This is what happened. (Sherlock’s account)

Why they would go on holiday, even when it was one almost literally handed over to them on a silver platter—some acquaintances of Mycroft were so _ostentatious_ —was beyond Sherlock. A cheque was preferable by far as a token of gratitude; Sherlock hadn’t given up on the idea of getting himself six human skeletons. If some people thought he was being absurd, he would have liked to advise one of these people to write back to his university. Perhaps with careful wording, he would have been able to get a refund on his medical degree since he was clearly incompetent. It was obvious there were important distinctions between the male and the female skeleton, in addition to the transformations that occurred through the different stages of life.

But instead of getting his six skeletons, Sherlock had to go to Hawaii. No good deed goes unpunished, as they said. But John seemed inordinately excited at the prospect and John’s well-being mattered to Sherlock, despite words thrown his way on weekly basis disputing that.

Hawaii was too hot. There was a lot of colour, too, which gave Sherlock a bit of a headache. On the day in question he managed to avoid going out only until noon, solving a case in the process, which at least was auspicious. There was virtually no stopping John afterwards so they went on one of those tour things. It promised to be truly dull. Thankfully, the driver turned out to be a criminal and there was a bomb on-board their ridiculous little train. John called the police, they showed up with unnecessary theatricality and revealed themselves to be just as slow as their London colleagues. Oh, the bomb was sorted out and no one died. 

Later that day they ate some horrendously hot food. John befriended one of policemen and stopped paying any attention to Sherlock. Which was just smashing, absolutely marvellous, because it allowed Sherlock to solve two of the old cases John’s new ‘friend’ had failed to close. Sherlock also bought a shirt in bold floral patterns as a gift for Mycroft. The man who owned the hot food caravan—arguably the largest man Sherlock had ever seen—sold Sherlock one of his own. 

Overall, Sherlock would probably still rather the six skeletons.

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue and plot elements taken from H50's season five finale, 5.25 " _A Make Kāua_ " ("Until We Die")


End file.
